Memories of life
by WhistlingWolf
Summary: A short! view of Elessar on his deathbed, pondering a long lived life filled with memories.


Flickers of light combined with fragments of conversations long past flashed by, too fast, too volatile for him to grasp. He heaved a sigh, feeling his old worn-out body comply with the wish to stay just awhile longer, breathe awhile longer, while listening to gentle raindrops in the background trying to lull him into a never ending sleep.

His last breath would be upon him not long from now, a concept he had come to terms with during the last years of his life.

Another memory flashed past, slower, tangible, of royal banners flying high in a strong summer breeze. The faraway scent of green meadows visited long ago, together with fragments of light laughter. Sparkling eyes found its way into his memories, and unbeknownst to him the corner of his mouth lifted up in a wry smile. The eyes reminded him of the mirthful, mischievous ways of his friends. Still, after the long years since the adventure of the ring, Merry and Pippin had never truly grown up. Passing through life, they had retained their youthful ways and easy-going attitudes even when their backs bend and their hairs had whitened with age. For years, living side by side with their wives and children, the two old hobbits had found peace sitting together under a cherry tree looking out over the meadows of their homeland, so cherished and valiantly defended against all evil in the world. And Sam, ever faithful Sam, solemn though happy, had died with his wife by his side and his children near, never fully recovering from the loss of his dearest friend who had gone oversees, followed by so many others, never to return. He had missed them. His family, his friends, though time had weathered down the grief, giving way to happiness over lives lived to the fullest.

Thinking of his friends brought a painful pang to reverberate in his chest. A cough escaped his battered body, rattling it to the core. Decades off old grief welled up again, and this time he could not will it down. A tear escaped from its confinement and slowly made its way down his cheek.

Faramir, fair, loyal Faramir, had died for his king, saving him from a stray arrow in the heat of battle. He had died on shores of the Anduin, not far from where his brother once fell. Robbed of his life, without seeing his son and wife again, they had left him there, unable to provide one of the noblest men with the proper rituals, for the war raged on around them and retreat had been the only option.

After the battle was won, the land regained and the peace in the realm restored, the only thing which remained of the once valiant man was the broken horn, once the possession of his brother, which he had kept with him ever since Boromir's passing. With his last breath he requested it to be brought to his son, together with the stories that which had to be told. Not long after learning of Faramir's fate, Éowyn broke from burden and grief, leaving the young steward's son to fend for himself.

So much pain. So much death. Time was never satisfied.

The raindrops still clattered on the roof overhead as he heard soft murmurs as they comforted one another as they sat at his deathbed. The murmurs disappeared in the background, as another memory whirled by and he could only barely grasp it, hanging on for dear life. He needed to regain his strength to fulfil his last wish, collecting strength from listening to memories of a time lived long ago.

The salty breeze had ruffled his hair, the waves gently rocking the ship beneath his feet. He was back to a scene which occurred during the battle of the ring, and though in war, there was scarcely a time where he had felt more at peace than then and there, sharing the simple joy to be alive with his friends.

They stood by his side, their eyes wandering over the horizon, marvelling the majesty of the vast ocean in front of them. The elf's eyes were filled with yearning, the flame of age old longing lit in his soul as the seagulls cried out in the summer breeze. A thread of regret coiled around his heart. For all the love his friend held for the lands of Middle-earth, he would one day be compelled to leave its rocky shores and sail into the west, gone from life and memory. A day, he hoped, would not come to pass for him to see.

The dwarf stood next to the elf, barely reaching up to his waist. His wild hair and rough beard stirring in the breeze, keen eyes looking at the sea in apprehension, for its form was foreign and strange to the dwarf and no longing for its endless call was inscribed into his heart. The land was his mother, the caves and depths of Middle-earth his home. He did not long for the sea, though he would follow wherever his friend would go, forgoing the safety and comfort of home for the love he held for his friends and their company. Even though one of them so happened to be a stubborn elf.

A whirlwind of sadness raged within his mind, knowing that when he passed, his friends would leave these shores never to set foot on them again. Their courage and friendship would be lost over the ages, disappearing into legends and myths.

As his mind drifted away from the scene, he came upon the reason for his existence. The love of his life, blinding him temporarily with the glow and radiance of her kind she had given up for him so freely. The sight of her fair face in his mind finally compelled him to open his eyes. His gaze fell upon her as she sat comfortably beside his bed site, eyes patiently closed, waiting for her love to awaken for perhaps the last time.

As he blinked sullenly, trying to mend the fragment of his fragile composure, her eyes flew open and their heavy grey gaze fixed itself upon him. A small forlorn smile graced her lips as she shook her head slightly, compelling him not to speak as to save energy. Though marked with the passing of time, the Evenstars' beauty had not fallen.

Her dark hair had remained, flowing down her back in a waterfall of lush, dark strands. Her face remained virtually unchanged, though fine lines were present, the only indication of a long lived life. Her beauty had deepened with the passing of time in one of elderly grace, retaining her royal posture and aura as the days had grown long towards the cold embrace of death. Their son had inherited his mother's beauty and compassion, together with the passion and will for all life in Middle-earth. Together, he knew, they would remain and live in comfort and peace bringing hope to a continent once torn apart by hatred and war.

Thoughts of his son fled his mind, as he gazed into her aged eyes. He sighed deeply, trying to find the will to see his last wish fulfilled through to the end. Seeing the beautiful gaze of his Evenstar once more had fulfilled the desperate desire he had held in his heart. A small smile graced his lips as he retained the gaze, the warm grey eyes staring into his own. Tears formed in their depths, as she inclined her head, sending him off with all the grace and love she could muster poured into the simple gesture.

His chest heaved one more time, soft words escaped him as he felt cool lips being placed upon his own. As his life fled his failing body, Elessar closed his eyes and the king who had brought peace to the lands of Middle-earth, was no more.

As the kiss lingered on the still warm lips, silent words were swept away with on the wind into the voids of time.

"Farewell, my Evenstar".

...

I wrote this fairly quick, give or take an hour or two, therefore the grammar can be a bit weird at some points. However, one of my lovely reviewers send me some advice about some parts which needed revising which I have fixed.

If you have the time, let me know what you think and you are welcome to point out any remaining grammar mistakes so I can fix them. All reviews will be much appreciated!

Thank you for reading. See ya!

\- WhistlingWolf


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